She said, None of your poems rhyme
and where are the sonnets?
Oh, but life’s rhythms
aren’t written in syllable counts.
Nor is our iron forged
by trite rhyme schemes.
At worst, man’s form
is a hurricane colliding
with an erupting volcano.
At best, it’s a night of music,
libation, and a partner he adores
climaxing at the end of his tongue.
Man is a simple beast grazing
in fields of dissonance.
He never stops
to appreciate the flowers
because they never stop
to appreciate him.
And his mind’s a gun chamber
loaded with infernal reflections.
Steven Bruce is a writer and multiple-award-winning author. His poems and short stories have appeared in numerous international anthologies and magazines. In 2018, he graduated from Teesside University with a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing.
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